as they
moved along the road. Many reasons united to make conversation a
weariness to the flesh when carried on under the prevailing conditions.

In the first place they had to keep a certain distance apart, which
would in itself necessitate shouting. Then the rumble of cannon was
growing steadily heavier the further they advanced, deadening most other
sounds pretty much all the time. Last of all there were those gaps in
the road, springing up most unexpectedly, where enemy shells had struck
in the endeavor to destroy as many of the pursuing French troops as
possible.

Both armies had traversed the region through which Rod and his friends
were making their tedious way. It can well be understood that the marks
of their late progress abounded on all sides.

Even where no particular action had occurred a thousand reminders of the
human flood of men that had so lately passed through were to be
discovered on every side. Often Hanky Panky's heart seemed to feel a
chill hand rest upon it as he marked the inevitable evidences of "man's
inhumanity to man." Cottages were burned or ruined in some way or other;
once beautiful gardens trampled out of all recognition; outbuildings
torn down to make campfires for the marching hosts--in fact the land
looked as though a hurricane might have recently swept across it,
leaving scars that it would take a long time indeed to heal.

Here, there, and everywhere they could see groups of the forlorn
inhabitants wandering about. Some stood and stared at the ruins of their
recent homes; others guarded the little they had saved; while still more
were on the roadside looking toward the region of the north, from whence
came all those portentous rumblings and angry roarings.

Hanky Panky, however, was astonished to discover very few solemn faces
among the peasants of the Marne country. At first this amazed him, but
presently he figured out what it meant.

They had in many cases lost the accumulated savings of years, even their
humble homes; but in spite of this they could take off their caps and
shout in almost savage glee as the three Motorcycle Boys rode past.

Why, to be sure, the Great Day had come, of which they had some of them
dreamed full forty years and more; when the German legions, like a
plague of locusts, had once more descended upon devoted Paris, only to
be brought to a standstill by the glorious army of the republic. And
even now those furious guns told how Von Kluck, who had m